No Matter What
by fjun
Summary: The burden of lyrium shared by all Templars takes its toll on two lovers. One-shot to Forum prompt.


Author's note:

Disclaimer: _Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age 2 and Dragon Age: Inquisition and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware._ _Rated M for language._

 _Just a oneshot to a prompt I read a few months back._

 _Enjoy._

 **.**

 **.**

 **No Matter What**

 **.**

 **.**

Cyn sat behind her worn work desk. The cackle of a small fire broke the hollow silence. Ink-splattered missives lay discarded, littering the table like a clutter of autumn leaves, fallen down from a balding oak and settled to rest. Abandoned they lay, gathering dust and slowly yellowing with the passage of time and the absence of touch.

The footsteps echoed with a barely contained anger, stamping up the stairwell with hurried despair. Cyn had expected the moment for some time now. Heartbeats had passed into a full bell worth of time and more, she couldn't rightly remember. A daze glazed her perception, twisted things real and unreal into a subtle, maddening blend.

Cyn massaged the corners of her eyes, already feeling the headache. Already feeling the urge to open the lowest drawer of her desk and succumb to sweet release.

He practically flew over the last step, charged her private abode—her retreat up high scratching the heavens—like an enraged bronto, mouth frothing. His expression was warped into something unpleasant the likes of which she'd never seen on him.

Like the fists of an angered god, he thumped the flat of his palms on her desk. Cyn flinched back and out of her chair. It toppled to the ground. Bottles tumbled into panicked disarray, bursting, spilling ink, leaking blue blood, spreading quickly.

'Have you gone _fucking_ mad?!' Cullen shouted. Spittle flew, hit her like a flagon of searing tea.

'Cullen. I—'

He made a sharp cutting gesture. 'Don't you dare,' he hissed. 'Why? Tell me? Why, Cyn!'

'You know why, Cullen. It weakens me every day.' Cyn lifted her left hand, helpless. 'The Mark takes too high a toll. On some days I can barely stand straight.'

Cullen shook his head. 'These are the excuses of an addict, Cyn. You aren't that. You're stronger, better than that.'

Cyn avoided her gaze from his. 'I am not.'

'Yes. You are. You're the strongest person I ever met. You're also kind and possess a measure of justice the world is undeserving of. You show forgiveness where others would answer with the swift response of cold steel. Even your worst enemies you humble.'

Cullen gave a gentle smile. Cyn thought she might buckle under the maelstrom of emotion it evoked. 'Cyn, you are the woman who captured my heart. You are the woman who helped me get rid of this pestilence the Chantry fed us both in order to keep us docile and manageable. And I won't stand idly by whilst you succumb to its wretched call. You were patient with me. When I shivered under the blankets we shared, when I turned mad with need and clawed and seethed at you. You were patient.'

Cullen walked around the desk, grabbed Cyn's hands from her side and enveloped them in his own. His callouses scratched her skin with familiar touch, squeezing to reassure, to reassert. It electrified the muscles in her thighs, sending a small jolt of pain up her back and into her skull. 'So I shall be with you.'

Cyn couldn't—it overcame her. Her legs lost sense and gave underneath her. Cullen reacted with battlefield-reflex. Had her in a lover's embrace before Cyn hit the ground. Panic written all over his features, ebbing away like a retreating white-capped wave when he saw her blink and look at him.

'I love you,' said Cullen. 'No matter what.'

He kissed her, his breath hot on her skin, filling her cheeks with warmth, driving heat in her lower stomach, itching between her legs.

The moment died. With a growl, Cullen shoved Cyn away before she could melt into his kiss, bask in the bliss it promised. Cyn fell to the ground, hard, hit her head on the wooden edge of the toppled chair. Her world tilted and spun. A seething cloud of black flies dotted her vision.

Cyn clutched the back of her head with a moan, her fingers came away slick with hot blood. A sob rose deep in her throat, convulsed her insides.

Cullen stared at her in fundament-shaking disbelief, mouth working like that of a dying fish. Took step after step back, away from Cyn, a warding hand in front of his body.

He'd tasted the lyrium on her lips.

Tears in his eyes, Cullen stormed out of her room.

The extent of _no matter what._

 **.**

 **.**


End file.
